Darcy Shaw
by gstarkrogersbarnescurtis
Summary: Darcy Shaw's father, Col. Robert Shaw, is leaving to fight for the 7th New York Infantry of the United States. She refuses to be without her parent, the only constant in her life, and pulls the age-old trick that defies fate in the face of all odds- she joins the military to fight alongside her father, even if disaster threatens to follow in her wake.


**Hello! :) This is my 2nd fic on , I hope any/all history nuts out there enjoy this small story that turned out to be more than I expected. This is purely based off of the movie "Glory". Im not sure that Robert had a daughter in real life, but lets say he did. Im just experimenting, here, not changing history in any way. Glory does not belong to me, neither does Shaw (not while I'm awake, anyways). As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Anyways, enjoy! :D **

Most stories start with a thought. Well, some do. My first thought, in all honesty that morning, was blue.

Blue could mean a lot of things, right? It could be the color of the sky. It could by the color of my pillow. It could be the color of my gown, or the dress I was to wear that day. But in the back of my mind, i knew that 'blue' was really the color of Dad's uniform. And Dad would be leaving today.

It was morning when the word sparked in my already occupied mind. I had tried to get sleep, because it was early. The sun was hardly above the Massachusetts land that surrounded my house. But 'blue' kept bugging me. I gripped my sheets tight.

"Darcy," I heard a call. I didn't move, because I didn't want to. I didn't want time to go on. I wanted Dad to stay.

It was 1861. I was 12. Maybe i threw a fit the night before, and maybe Dad had to come in and comfort me as i cried. Maybe he had to calm me down, tell me it was all going to be okay, he would be okay, and everything would be alright. Maybe I fell asleep crying, feeling his hand smooth my hair back softly.

The house maid knocked on my door. "Darcy, dear? Come out, sweetheart." She cooed gently. I still didn't move. The doorknob jiggled, and the hinges of the door creaked as it opened.

"Dear? Whats wrong?" She asked me.

"Nothing." I replied flatly.

"Your mother would like you downstairs." she pressed. I let a heartbeat pass before replying, "Thank you. I'll be down."

She nodded and closed the door. I felt alone, yet again. I sat up, hearing the soft crinkle of the sheets around me. I sighed and ran my hand over them. They were soft and cool, warm from my presence. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and looked down at my light blue night-gown.

I got up. I didn't want to, but I did. I made my way to the door, reaching out to grab the doorknob, when I heard talking.

"She'll miss you." my mother's hoarse voice was unmistakable.

"I know." came the quiet reply of my father.

"She should be awake, now."

"Really? Its early. She should get her rest."

I pursed my lips. Maybe I should have stayed in bed. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten up. Maybe I should wait until my Dad left, and comfort my mother while she cried. I swallowed hard. Against my own opinion, i opened the door quietly.

The conversation continued, indicating that they hadn't heard me yet. I quietly tip-toed down the hall, the soft sound of my feet on the floor not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear. I made my way to the stair case, and sat at the top, gripping the rail.

"She was crying last night, Annie." My father said, and I couldn't help but notice the concern in his voice.

"I know, I heard her from our bedroom." My mother said, just as grim. I felt my stomach tighten with embarrassment and regret. I peeked out from behind a bar on the stair case and saw my mother, tying the red waistband on my father's torso. He stood there, his arms out to grant her ease.

I realized how different my mother and I looked. She had gorgeous, curly auburn locks and grey eyes, with a thin, elegant frame. I looked more like my Dad- medium size, stocky, but fit. I had his dark brown hair and thoughtful eyes to match. But my eyes were reckless and playful, while his were soft and patient.

"Darcy?"

I was jerked back into reality, my parents staring at me. They had both stopped what they were doing, my mother giving me a rather stern look while my father seemed shocked and almost worried.

"Darcy Elizabeth Shaw, how long have you been there?" My mother's tone was softer than her gaze. I stood and cleared my throat. "Not long." I answered.

My gaze settled on Dad. I was so proud to see him like that, with his waistcoat over his stark white shirt. It tore me up on the inside.

"Darcy," Dad sounded weary. I couldn't take it anymore, not with him looking at me like that. Bolting down the stairs as fast as I could, i met him at the base. I jumped and hooked my arms around his neck, clinging to him, not wanting to ever let go. He had me in a warm embrace, and it felt good.

"Dad," I choked out a sob. "Dad, don't leave."

He stroked my hair. I felt tears drip from my face, and I let another sob rack my frame.

He finally pulled back, keeping his hands in my shoulders at arm's length. He looked at me in the eyes, and I was ashamed that I couldn't help my relentless crying.

The words he said to me then are still fresh in my mind. He looked at me square in the eyes- didn't move, only stared.

"Darcy, whatever happens, if all else is lost, be strong. For me, Darcy."

I wondered how his voice could be so level and calm. I nodded, still crying. He wiped the tears from under my eyes with his thumb, and pulled me close to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and felt his fingers card through my brown hair gently.

Strong. I would be strong, for my dad, for his sacrifice. I could be strong.


End file.
